Our Complaint To The Sun

We sent a petition
To the Sun
And told it to "cut the sh*t"
We were too hot
And we were too cold
And liked it not one little bit

Since over the ages
Our diligent sages
Had spilled both our blood and our treasure
For all of our sacrifice to the Sun
We had not received even measure

We typed the complaint
Of the weak and the faint
And published it
Without relent
But it was so lame
And much to our shame
The chief complainers were bent

So the Sun blinked an eye
Leaving some dry
As others were lost in a flood
Then it threw off a flare
That roasted our hair
And stopped the complaining for good